


Love Seeketh Not Itself to Please

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (and he gets plenty), Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthony J'Acts of Service Crowley, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale is principality of queer folk, Bargaining, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Healing, Heaven, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Other, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), heavy on the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-01-27 08:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: After Aziraphale is left gravely injured by a summoning, Crowley must take him to heaven and bargain with the angels for his life. It doesn't go as he'd expect.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 88
Kudos: 432
Collections: Aziraphale Treated Gently For Your Soul, Hurt Aziraphale





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was all started from the Whumptober prompt 'Bleeding Out'; as I started to write it it clearly wanted to be a much longer, more sprawling story. It was also born of me reading tons of wonderful Crowley whump fics, and wanting a little love for our angel too!
> 
> A quick note: Aziraphale's in a pretty bad way in the first chapter, with some nasty injuries. I describe them, but, I think, lightly, and don't linger too much on graphic description. He gets better, I promise :) (That's the whole third chapter. The payoff will be excellent, I swear!)
> 
> Finally, the title is from Blake's The Clod and the Pebble, which I found because I knew I wanted an English poet, and, well -- it doesn't seem out of theme for a Good Omens story about Heaven and Crowley and Aziraphale:
> 
> ‘Love seeketh not itself to please,  
Nor for itself hath any care,  
But for another gives its ease,  
And builds a heaven in hell’s despair.’
> 
> So sung a little clod of clay,  
Trodden with the cattle’s feet,  
But a pebble of the brook  
Warbled out these metres meet:
> 
> ‘Love seeketh only Self to please,  
To bind another to its delight,  
Joys in another’s loss of ease,  
And builds a hell in heaven’s despite.’

Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid _ humans. They got it into their heads they could capture a demon or an angel, and then went and did their best to carry it off. Having known one angel (well, one angel  _ well _ ) and many demons, Crowley wondered why on earth you'd  _ seek one out _ , but there you were, that was humanity all over for you.

(Crowley was well aware that he ought to be the last being to bitch about humans seeking out knowledge, but he also opted to ignore that completely.)

He and Aziraphale had been summoned a few times each. usually poorly, often by mistake, and never held long. Crowley liked to turn into a snake and escape that way, and Aziraphale always sat down and had a good talk over a warm drink about turning one's life around. Lately he'd even taken to borrowing his captor's mobile to give Crowley a quick ring for a pick-up, if he was within driving distance. Or to let him know when to have a nice cuppa waiting, if it might be a bit longer to get home. Either way, Crowley did rather appreciate the heads-up, and was always happy to pick Aziraphale up.

Crowley was pretty sure there wouldn't be warm drinks this time, because he was going to burn the place to the _ground_.

He had known something was wrong almost immediately; angelic magic and angelic suffering lit up the inside of his head like the world's largest fireworks. They'd never had to rescue one another before, but this wasn't even a cry for help – this was Aziraphale  _ suffering _ , which was not a thing Crowley permitted to happen.

It had been far too hard to find where he was, exactly. Aziraphale's pain and fear were like a choking fog as Crowley studied his globe, trying to pinpoint the source, to find a signal to home in on. He always had been able to before, when Aziraphale needed rescuing from something. The church in 1941 had been like a flare; Crowley only had to close his eyes and he knew precisely where his stupid, wonderful angel was. Something was different this time, though.

He had to follow vague leadings, and didn't like it. First to the wilderness of northern Canada, but as soon as he miracled himself there, he knew it wasn't the place; someone had  _ lead _ him here, and now he knew the taste of that particular trick, he could ignore it. Mongolia got him closer, he was sure. Certainly the same continent.

Not quite, though, and in the meantime Crowley tried to put the pain aside. Aziraphale was soft and complained a lot; his stubbed toes were things of legend. He was probably just cranky at being inconvenienced. Perhaps someone had tried the tiniest jot of torture – a broken finger. No, not even that; a bruise or an attempt at a beating, and his angel was so incensed by this slight pain he--

He was making a cloud of pain and fear and sorrow that obscured where he was in the world. Yes.

Crowley told himself stories in order to live, and this was a story he needed, in order to live long enough to pull off a daring, sexy rescue. He would swoop in looking  _ extremely cool _ in his brand-new sunglasses, wrap an arm around his angel, tell everyone else to fuck off, and miracle himself and his grateful beloved home. Once home, he told himself, he would make Aziraphale sit down and show Crowley any slight hurts. Ice would be applied to bruises, plasters to small scratches, and Crowley would make his best friend, who was back home where he belonged, put his feet up while Crowley ordered in dinner from their favourite Thai place. He would get two helpings of the sweet, sticky rice dessert Aziraphale liked, and the angel could have them both.

Yes, that's what they would do, once he'd found Aziraphale and pulled him away from whatever morons had found one of Dee's lost notebooks or whatever. Aziraphale would bitch mightily in between mouthfuls of pad thai, and Crowley would egg him on, and they would be  _ together _ . The ice would melt and small scratches heal, and Crowley would stay up all night so Aziraphale had company as he read. And they would be so  _ happy _ .

Crowley must be getting closer; the pain was sharper, the signal coalescing. Less a fog; now a marker, though one surrounded thickly by confusion. But there was a signal to home in on, and Crowley followed it from place to place, slowly moving towards Eastern Europe, then Western. North, to the cold; that seemed to be consistent he thought. Well, Aziraphale didn't mind the cold, so that was a blessing. He wouldn't be uncomfortable from that, wherever he was.

When Crowley landed in Germany, the waves of pain were so vast he fell to his knees. What were they  _ doing _ to his angel? Hurry. He had to hurry. Wouldn't do to let Aziraphale get discorporated. 

At least he was close, at least he had a better signal here. There were maybe not even a hundred miles separating them, Crowley thought. He wasn't sure how long he'd been searching, but he thought he might be nearly done, and he blinked and closed his eyes and – there. Yes. He'd found it, like digging in sand and finding a jewel, or like – like –

He didn't even know, or care. He'd found Aziraphale, and a snap, and he was there.

He was  _ there _ there. It seemed he'd made up for too long spent orbiting this place, trying to narrow it down – Crowley manifested in a warehouse, not ten feet from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, who was pinned high on a wall, spears through his outspread wings, enough to hold his wings fully open and support his weight without tearing. Aziraphale naked, covered in blood from sigils scribed on his skin, a vast circle on the wall around him. Aziraphale, who screamed as Crowley blinked into existence.

“ _ No _ .” It was a word only by coincidence; Crowley's gut roiled and his rage was uncontainable at what he saw. There would be no mercy for this; this was real magic and real evil and Crowley would destroy it from the face of the earth. He didn't even look around to see who had done this; he snapped his fingers and they were not. Hell could have them with a bow on top; Crowley didn't give a shit. They weren't worth him even remembering what they looked like, or even knowing how many there were.

First problem done with; now he had to get Aziraphale down. The spears were holding him in place and also stanching his wounds somewhat; as soon as they came free, Crowley would have to work quickly.

Oh, Satan, no. Aziraphale was  _ awake _ , his eyes blinking.

“It's all right, angel,” Crowley called up quickly. “I'm here. I'm going to get you down. It'll be all right, I promise. You're going to be just fine.”

Aziraphale licked his lips, but didn't, or couldn't, speak. His body was beaten, his wounds still oozing blood. What fucker had dared to carve something over his heart, over the heart that was  _ Crowley's _ ? Crowley would heal that himself, and kiss the pale skin when he was done, and do so every night for the rest of their lives together, until the world couldn't dream of hurting an angel even Heaven didn't much care about.

Crowley looked up, and locked eyes with the angel, and it was terrible. Aziraphale  _ hurt _ , and he was afraid. Crowley reached up, just able to touch Aziraphale's foot, and rested his hand against it. “I love you,” he loud enough for God herself to hear. “You're safe, angel. I love you so much. Just hold on a little longer for me.”

The tiniest of nods, and right, time to think  _ fast _ .

Crowley snapped his fingers, and suddenly the world – or at least the warehouse – tilted. Now Aziraphale lay on his back, the weight off of the terrible spears, what had been the wall now the floor, Crowley walking easily as the building tumbled in space. He knelt by Aziraphale and touched his shoulder, ignoring the sticky blood, ignoring everything but tired eyes and a dying angel. Because that was what was happening; it wasn't just his corporation, Aziraphale's  _ essence _ had been hacked into, had been pierced and abused, would need time and space and care to heal. Crowley had infinite stores of all of these things, of course.

“We'll have to go on a really  _ good _ holiday, when you're better,” he murmured, taking a moment to touch Aziraphale's cheek, to cup it in his hand. “You think about where you want to go. Hot or cold. City or country. Anywhere you want – I'll build us a palace, and you can do whatever you like. We don't even have to wait 'til you're better. You'd like that, eh? A big warm bed in the middle of a library in Scotland, where you can watch the sun set over the mountains and smell the sea and read to your heart's content.” Crowley paused and sniffled. “I just made it for you, angel. So see, you've got to hold on. Got to get better, or what a waste that'll be.”

The absolute barest smile, a twitch of his lips, and Aziraphale's eyes closed. Right, time to work; there would be hours he could just witter on later. Days. Years of being so in love he went utterly stupid, but right now Aziraphale was lying here in pain, bleeding out, and Crowley had work to do.

He set up the miracles, building them quickly, a chain reaction he could trigger with a snap. He wouldn't have long to work, and wasn't even certain that this  _ would _ work – they'd never healed each other of things this serious. A twisted ankle or a sprained wrist was about the worst either had had to manage for the other; dozens of wounds on top of a beaten soul was a whole new level.

Crowley worked as quickly as he dared, making sure his miracles were precise, no room for harm to accidentally befall anyone. Everything lined up and chained together, he snapped his fingers.

The spears vanished, and light filled the terrible wounds, stitching Aziraphale's flesh together before he could bleed out. The torn skin glowed red where it joined together, and Aziraphale moaned, but he lived.

Crowley let out a deep breath. All right. The most immediate fear was dealt with. Aziraphale's corporation would survive.

He took his jacket off and lifted Aziraphale enough to wrap it around his shoulders, give him a little bit of protection against the world. “I'm going to take us home,” he murmured, although he was pretty sure the angel couldn't hear. “We'll get home, and get that awful blood off of you, and you can heal up. Even if you've got to go the slow way, it'll be all right. I'll take care of you,” he promised, and lifted Aziraphale in his arms.

He carried the unconscious angel outside, wanting to do this first. Hellfire would destroy this place to the extent where no one would remember it existed, no one would rebuild for a generation. It would be a not-place, and never be used for such terrible things again.

Crowley held Aziraphale in his arms, carefully shielding him, and watched the warehouse burn to the ground, the hellfire taking only minutes. There, that was done, and now the hard part truly began.

He could get them home quickly, at least, a nice demonic miracle taking the place of overland transit. They blinked into being in the bookshop, of course; this was _their_ home far more than Crowley's flat was to him. And besides, it was familiar and full of the angel's favourite things, so Aziraphale would have to recover a little faster here, be just a little more comfortable, until he was well enough that Crowley could snap them to the great house in Scotland he'd dreamed into being.

This was about as much of a plan as he had. That, and getting Aziraphale clean and comfortable.

At least he'd had the good common sense to sort out a much nicer bathroom than the laws of physics should have dictated – trust Aziraphale to have a giant bathtub and skylights and towel-warmers and things like that. And one of those bendy detachable shower heads, thank Satan.

Crowley settled Aziraphale in the bathtub, thick towels acting as a poor cushion, but enough to ease him a little. There was...more blood than he liked to think about, but he set his mouth and washed it off, trying to heal the sigils carved into Aziraphale's skin as he went. Like his wings, he managed partway; to stanch the bleeding and seal the skin, but with glowing, angry lines left behind. It would be enough, though; Aziraphale would wake and heal himself, and it would be all right, Crowley told himself.

He was tender and careful, sponging sticky blood away with a flannel. Crowley started with Aziraphale's chest and worked his way out, revealing familiar skin. How many times had he kissed here, this dip below Aziraphale's collarbone? He used his thumb now to brush away blood, moving up to the curve of Aziraphale's shoulder when the skin was clean.

Aziraphale hardly stirred the whole time Crowley was cleaning him. A little worrying, but also a relief – as careful as he was, Crowley couldn't help but hurt him, and it was best that Aziraphale wasn't awake and aware. Anything to spare him.

It took some time, but soon Aziraphale was free of blood, with even his hair washed. Crowley took his time with that, getting a good lather and rinsing away any hint of dirt or blood so that his hair would dry properly white-blond and fluffy.

Aziraphale's face was last, and Crowley was as careful as he'd ever been with anything in the world, washing that dear face. It wasn't that scrubbing Aziraphale down hadn't been a tender act, but this was _intimate_. He wiped away dried blood carefully, and the tear-tracks through them. Aziraphale's eyelids were nearly translucent, the tiniest blue veins just visible. His nose, tip upturned and precious, was cleaned of any grime, and Crowley wiped a fresh flannel over the soft skin of his cheeks and jaw.

Crowley even smiled as he scrubbed a little behind Aziraphale's ears. He so hated being dirty, and would be happy when he woke, knowing he was cared for, knowing he was clean and well. Such were the stories Crowley told himself, to distract from the wounds that wouldn't heal. Sure, he might not be powerful enough to heal an angel, but surely Aziraphale could take care of such things himself? He could do anything, Crowley firmly believed in it. Hadn't he stopped the apocalypse? (Well, all right. Maybe they weren't at their best. Or even competent. But they had helped, a little.) Hadn't he turned his back on Heaven, chosen Crowley, and since that day loved him better than Crowley had ever dreamed of? That – _that_ was a thing worth admiring, anyway.

And it would be Crowley's service to help him along, to do what he could so Aziraphale would get better. Tempt him with food and little treats, force his eyes to work well enough that he could read aloud to the angel, and never mind that reading always made him a little dizzy. He could be a little dizzy, to please the being he loved best in all the world.

With these things to comfort him, Crowley lifted Aziraphale out of the bath and carried him to the bedroom, settling him on the soft duvet and grabbing a spare towel to pat him dry, from curly head to carefully-pedicured toes. His skin still gleamed with the horrific sigils, and his wings bore the same red, glowing wounds, but Crowley thought his breathing was easier. More like real sleep.

He didn't want to muck about with clothes, especially if it might rub or press on a wound, but he got Aziraphale under heavy layers of blankets to keep him warm, and settled in to wait. Surely it wouldn't be long before he woke?

It was a few hours, in the end. Long enough for Crowley to begin to worry, but not so much he'd start to panic – he could almost accuse Aziraphale of doing that on purpose. He was good at pushing just enough to annoy Crowley, or exasperate him, and then pulling back just in time, usually with a smile, so that Crowley fell more deeply in love than ever. It was _incredibly_ irritating, and Crowley was extremely proud of Aziraphale every time he pulled it off.

He wasn't even annoyed, not really, and finally Aziraphale stirred under the blankets. He tried to turn over, moaned, and opened his eyes, and Crowley's heart did several complicated things that hearts were not, he was quite sure, supposed to do.

“Shh, angel, don't move,” he said softly. He'd settled in a chair by the bed, not wanting to disturb the angel, and leaned forward now, touching his hand to Aziraphale's brow. It felt so like when Warlock had been poorly, and Nanny right there, that his heart gave a great squeeze. Demons, he was quite certain, weren't really built to love the way he did. Then again, angels were supposed to be made for that, but he'd seen evidence of such powerful love from exactly one angel in his entire existence, so.

“You're hurt,” he said, voice low and soothing, almost Nanny's again. “But you're safe, darlin'. I've got you home, and you're so safe. I promise.”

Aziraphale cracked open one eye. He licked his lips, and tried to speak.

“Easy,” Crowley urged. “Easy. Here.” He snapped, and a cup of ice chips appeared. He fed a few to Aziraphale slowly, pressing the little bits of cold to his lips. Once Aziraphale definitely on-purpose licked his fingertips, and they shared a smile.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley tamped down the urge to do cartwheels, and smiled instead.

“Thanks for hanging in there,” he said, and ruffled Aziraphale's hair. “Poor thing. You're not looking great, angel.”

“Don't feel great.” Aziraphale closed his eyes, but just for a moment, and took a deep breath. “You healed me,” he said.

“A little. Not enough. I don't think your body will let me,” Crowley confessed. “I'm sorry.”

“S'not your fault.” Aziraphale turned his head toward Crowley, finally opening both eyes wide, and locking their gazes. “S'the magic. I can't heal it either. Would take...angels. More powerful'n me. I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm so sorry. I can't...I won't get better.”

“You stop that,” Crowley said, and his voice shook. “You will.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “How?”

“I'll find a way! You don't get to leave! You can't _die_,” Crowley said, his voice breaking.

“_Won't_,” Aziraphale said, voice gone raw. “Never. But. Like this. Stasis.” He breathed deep. “_Hurts_.”

“I know, love, I know. I'm so sorry.” Crowley caressed his hair, his cheek, the bits of Aziraphale he knew wouldn't hurt to touch. “Poor angel, poor love, you don't deserve any of this. No one does.” He leaned over and kissed Aziraphale's brow. “Rest, all right? You rest. I'll get you help. We'll get you healed if...if I have to go to Heaven myself.”

Aziraphale frowned, clearly completely ignoring Crowley's command to rest or not worry or anything sensible like that. “Heaven.” He frowned deeper, eyes darting, brain fighting through a fog of pain.

“Shh, you let me worry about that,” Crowley soothed. “You've got enough to deal with.”

“Shut up,” Aziraphale said. “I'm thinking.”

Crowley, not a little stunned, actually did shut up. Only _his_ angel was so bossy. He'd be in love later, when he wasn't vaguely offended.

“Heaven. You have to go, Crowley.” Aziraphale met his eyes again, hazel-blue burning through the glow of pain. “Bring me there. Be clever. They're stupid, you're not. Here.” He fumbled under the blankets for a moment, then dragged one arm out, teeth clenched against the pain. He pressed something into Crowley's hand. “My ring. Wear it. My halo – it'll keep you safe. Won't hurt you. Nothing of me can hurt you, love.” He smiled, suddenly exhausted, his hand going slack against Crowley's. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Crowley croaked out. Aziraphale's ring was heavier than it looked, and he quickly slipped it on – it was too big for his pinky, the way Aziraphale wore it, but it fit very nicely on the third finger. Aziraphale was right – it was warm, and heavy, but it didn't burn him.

In the few moments it took to put the ring on, Aziraphale had slipped back into unconsciousness, but at least Crowley knew what to do now. He'd gone to the office building that was their shared portal how many times? Hundreds now?

It was stupid, but he paused – he wasn't going to carry Aziraphale naked up to heaven, that just felt..._wrong_. Especially for an angel who was happy enough for Crowley to see him without clothes, but was scrupulous about his modesty when it came to the rest of the world.

Linen pyjamas, Crowley finally decided. Tasteful, extremely on-brand, and thin enough to show what had been done to him, and what he needed. And soft enough that if he woke again, he would be comfortable enough.

A snap and it was done, and Crowley gathered Aziraphale in his arms, careful of his wings. They showed most clearly the extent of the abuse Aziraphale had suffered: vast gaping wounds, probably some of the smaller bones broken, feathers dishevelled. Crowley would have to groom them for him as he healed.

But he had other things he had to do first, like cradling Aziraphale to his chest and transporting them to the office building. He had to walk carefully over to Heaven's side, but as promised, Aziraphale's halo protected him, and he got on the escalator going up, the angel far too still in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley had been this way once before, and found it unchanged, even in his own body. Aziraphale's ring was heavy on his finger, and of course his body in Crowley's arms – though even that had started to feel slight. Not solid enough, and Crowley worried as he ascended.

“Hold on,” he murmured. “Please, angel, just keep holding on, that's all you need to do.” He shifted Aziraphale so his head lay more steadily against Crowley's shoulder, and pressed a kiss to his brow. “I love you,” he mouthed against the skin, not even able to say it out loud. Besides, Aziraphale knew. Crowley had at least got  _ that _ through his thick, precious head.

His ascent came to an end, and he stepped off of the escalator and walked towards the door, which of course opened for him. For Aziraphale, probably, or because it had been commanded to, his coming seen by dozens of sentinels.

Heaven's gates, if they ever had been, were no longer pearly; just a plain white opening. There was even a receptionist, who looked up from her paperwork and visibly startled as Crowley approached. “How did you get in here?” she demanded, standing quickly. “And what is  _ that _ ?”

“ _ He _ is an angel, and he needs healing,” Crowley snapped. “Badly. He's how I got in here, if you must know.”

“This is...this is highly irregular,” the receptionist-angel-whatever she was protested.

“Tell me about it,” Crowley muttered. “Look, I know you lot hate him and he is, by your standards, a frankly shit angel, but we're here and he needs you. Well, not you-you. Some kind of healer. An angelic one. Okay?”

“I...I have to make some calls.”

“Be quick about it,” Crowley said. “If anything happens to him...” He held Aziraphale more closely to his chest, ready to fight like the snake he was for his life. For both their lives, if necessary. And he wasn't going to  _ move _ until Aziraphale's healing was completed.

The golden ring on his hand didn't burn, but Crowley was startled to feel it react. He couldn't say how or why, exactly, but he knew angels were coming.

And what angels they were.

“Don't you have, I don't know, a universe to run or something?” Crowley asked, as Gabriel, flanked by Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon, advanced across the vast white emptiness of Heaven. God, it was bloody cold up here. “I know you're not big on interventions anymore, but honestly, I cannot be the most interesting thing going on.”

“On the contrary,” Uriel said. “We find you  _ very _ interesting. How are you not a small puff of smoke?”

“Maybe I'll tell you later,” Crowley said, thinking fast. He didn't have much to hold onto, but this was a possibility, at least. “Aziraphale. He needs healing.”

Gabriel peered at him for a moment, then drew back, eyes wide and mouth curling in obvious disgust. “Good God! What did you do to him?”

“I rescued him,” Crowley snapped. 

“No, no, I know you're both very foolishly...attached.” The disgust dripped off of his voice. “But you've stuck him in stasis! Of course he can't heal!”

“He can't bleed out either, which was my other choice at the time!” Crowley said. “It's not just his body, either, his soul is shattered. Look, he said you lot could help. That a stronger angel than him could heal him.”

“Not going to be hard to find,” Sandalphon muttered, and it was literally only because he knew Aziraphale's life hung in the balance that Crowley didn't kill him where he stood. 

“I'll give anything,” Crowley said, and so what if he was reckless? “Heal him. Let him go back to Earth. We can negotiate. Anything, for his life.”

Michael smiled, and it wasn't nice. “Oh, how interesting,” she said, and Gabriel sighed and snapped his fingers.

Aziraphale's body rose out of Crowley's arms, moving and circling so that it hung in midair, arms and wings outstretched, and Crowley tried not to think about the last time he'd seen Aziraphale looking like that. At least he was unconscious; at least no pain could touch him where he was.

Michael tilted her head to one side and regarded him, and with a snap did away with the pyjamas Crowley had provided.

Aziraphale's body was still beaten and scarred, the sigils glowing, the skin barely held together, and of course not healing. Crowley swallowed hard, purposefully ignoring the sound of disappointment Sandalphon and Uriel made at the sight of his corporation.

When all this was over, Crowley told himself, he'd take Aziraphale home and hold him and kiss the stretch marks on his belly, and bring him tea and cake, his favourite kinds. He'd love Aziraphale so much better than any angel ever could. It was a poor gift, he reckoned, but it was the best he could do. The best he could promise the being he loved best. Aziraphale may not have been a very good angel, but he was perfect at being  _ Aziraphale _ , and suddenly Crowley  _ missed _ him so much it was like a punch to the gut.

He touched the gold ring around his finger as two more angels approached on their stupid hoverboards.

“Hm,” one said.

“Oh, that old trick,” the other said, and a great table, icy-cold and metal and without even a draping appeared, and Aziraphale's body rotated again to land on it.

Aziraphale didn't normally feel the cold much, Crowley reminded himself. And he certainly wouldn't now. Perhaps the cold would help; he would bleed more slowly this way. And there were big fluffy dressing gowns at home. Crowley would run out and buy the most ridiculous one he could find, all velvet and marabou and with a big collar that would wrap around his angel and keep him more than warm enough. Such promises he made himself, thumb touching his ring, the thing he had of Aziraphale to comfort himself.

“They'll work on him. Come with us, and we will discuss terms,” Michael said loftily, and without a backwards glance, Crowley followed her. Looking wouldn't help, and he wondered, maybe, if it was a little better to hide their love. Not like Gabriel would understand what it was to love another person. Maybe loving God he could  _ just _ about grasp, but not the cthonic, sweet, everyday kind of in-love that Crowley and Aziraphale had. More than anything, Crowley knew that had never touched the angels.

Well. With one exception.

They led him to an anonymous, dull white conference room – of course.

“What, no coffee?” Crowley asked. “No stale bagel with the little packet of cream cheese that is, somehow, extra-sad?”

“We do not soil our corporations with such things,” Uriel said. “Sit. Shut up. We're negotiating.”

“All right then,” Crowley said, lounging on a chair. He didn't put his feet up on the table, but it was a near thing. Whatever they expected, he would play the cool demon. The unworried demon. The demon who...apparently had something they wanted, otherwise why would they be negotiating? Why wouldn't they just fling him down from Heaven – again – or take their chance and kill him  _ and _ Aziraphale or any of a hundred other possibilities?

“I have conditions,” Crowley said. 

“Of course you do,” Gabriel said, with an eerie smile. “Well, let's have them. Protection for yourself? We can't grant a  _ demon _ that.”

“No,” Crowley said quickly. “Nothing for myself. My only conditions are – you heal Aziraphale. Back to how he was before that asshole did this to him, no wounds left, nothing like that. Working wings. Soul-healed. And that you let him go back to Earth. Not that I think you'd want him around here,” he added, because a little bit of truth never hurt.

“Ugh, no,” Gabriel muttered. “I can't believe  _ you _ want him around. Doesn't he go around...thwarting your wiles, or whatever?”

Crowley thought of all the times Aziraphale regularly confiscated his superglue bottles. “Yes, I suppose so,” he said, and shrugged. “Keeps things interesting.”

“But he's so... _ dull _ ,” Michael finally said. “So plain and yappy and...enthusiastic. About the oddest things.” She wrinkled her nose. 

The 'what do you  _ see _ in him' echoed loudly around the room, even without being spoken, and for once in his life, Crowley controlled his temper. Yes, Aziraphale could be incredibly dull. Most beings could, it was a talent. Only humans could have invented boredom. But you'd think Michael had never seen Aziraphale's eyes light up when he did a stupid magic trick poorly. Or when he spotted something in a museum he remembered well from the old days. Or any of a thousand other moments, where Crowley had watched Aziraphale take in the world around him, make it his own, and enjoy it to the last drop. And Satan, what a  _ pity _ that was for her.

Crowley was surprised to learn that he wasn't angry. He wasn't quite sorry for them, but knowing that Michael would never see Aziraphale light up at the world, and turn, and hold out a hand so that he could share whatever wonderful thing he'd discovered – how can you be angry, if you know that's denied to the person being a total chode to you?

“What does it matter?” Crowley asked. “I want him on Earth when this is all over. And I want him well.”

“And you?” Uriel asked, too sweetly. 

“Anything you like,” Crowley said. “You want demonic workings? I got 'em. You want an end to my temptations? Sure. You want a direct line to Hell?” He smiled. “But you already have one, silly me.”

“Don't get cute,” Michael snapped. “It doesn't suit you.”

Crowley shrugged. “I am open to negotiation,” he said.

“What if we want to keep  _ you _ ?” Sandalphon asked, smiling slowly. “He returns to Earth, but you don't.”

Crowley swallowed hard. Aziraphale would  _ kill  _ him. “I said anything, and that's part of it. I'd stay here, to buy his life and freedom. Yes. Yes, of course.”

Sandalphon's smile grew. “We could do so much with you,” he said, voice oozing and dreamy. “Oh yes. There's so much  _ fun _ we could have.”

“Anything you want,” Crowley said softly. “Torture me. Want to see what makes a demon scream? I'll give you a list, start you off. But first I want to see him well, and see him back on Earth. Then you get me for eternity.”

Aziraphale was  _ definitely _ going to kill him. 

And Crowley didn't give two shits. Aziraphale would adjust. Or mount a stupid rescue. It didn't matter, because he'd also be able to go and have a cup of coffee and a cake at his favourite spot, and read by the fire while it rained outdoors, and see new cities and people and things. And no matter what was happening to Crowley, he could imagine that, and comfort himself with the knowledge.

Uriel giggled, and Gabriel shushed her, which was weird but okay. Crowley didn't exactly expect anything from these angels, but this was weird and creepy even for them.

Satan, was this what having in-laws was like?  _ Urgh _ .

“So we get you for healing him,” Michael mused. “A demon for an angel's life. How is that fair, scum?”

“Oh, you meant me?” Crowley smiled sweetly, after just a few too many beats. “I don't know, you're the ones that accepted the deal. And, well.” Aziraphale, darling, forgive me. You know you're my whole heart, and worth twenty of me any day.

Well, ten. A dozen at the outside.

“You're trading a demon for a pretty poor angel,” Crowley said bluntly. “Sure, he's a Principality, but when was the last time he properly guarded something? We didn't even get the right  _ Anti-Christ _ . So I think I'm a pretty fair swap, all told. The serpent of Eden for a disappointment? Seems fair.”

Michael's face twitched. Hah. They didn't think he'd had it in him. Sure Crowley was a disappointment as a demon too, but  _ they _ didn't know that.

Also he thought he was quite good at demon-ing, if you looked at it the right way. Just as Aziraphale was very good at angel-ing, depending on your point of view. They were both just job descriptions when you got down to it. Old Augustine had got  _ that _ right at least.

“So, ah, now that we've got you, what do we do with you?” Uriel asked.

Crowley held up a finger. “Ah-ah, you don't have me yet. Aziraphale healed and healthy and free to return to Earth. That's the deal. I have to see proof first.” He smiled, just a little too wide. “Not that Heaven would go back on its word, of course.”

“Of course,” Uriel said dryly. Huh. Crowley could almost like her. He appreciated a lack of bullshit.

There was a soft chiming sound, and Gabriel looked up. “Oh. Speaking of.”

The angels rose and Crowley followed after them, crossing the giant creepy office...whatever it was, to near where Crowley had entered. This must be it. Proof of Aziraphale's healing, and then perhaps the fastest of goodbyes, and then. Well. It was a fair trade, Crowley thought. It  _ was _ . You couldn't get something this important and this hard and this  _ good _ without paying for it.

It felt like it took forever to walk across the shiny floor, and Crowley guessed he understood the hoverboard thing a little more. The pillars meant he could hardly see what they were going towards until they were almost on top of it , though.

Aziraphale lay on a marble slab floating in midair and just about waist height. His skin was paler than Crowley had ever seen it, his face still and pale, but his chest rose and fell, just barely. He was covered by a thin white sheet, and Crowley shivered – couldn't they give him just a little comfort? Would it kill them to be  _ kind _ ? 

What skin Crowley could see was unmarked, though, not even scarred. Good.

“Show me his wings,” he said, and they appeared, spread out. He carefully checked – where the spears had been was healed, though feathers not regrown. Crowley touched it, felt where shattered bone had been healed. “Why are there bald spots?” he demanded. “I said he was to be healed.”

“He has been,” one of the angels said. An anonymous one, presumably a healer. “We can't force the feathers. They will grow back in time, in the natural way.”

Crowley nodded. “Wake him up,” he said. “Just for a moment. But I need to make sure.” He smiled at Gabriel and showed all his teeth. “We have a deal.”

The angel touched Aziraphale's shoulder, and his breathing got deeper, a little faster. This wasn't the way Aziraphale woke up naturally. That involved considerably more snuggling, a twitching nose and little mumbles and grumbles. This time, his eyes simply opened.

“Oh,” he said softly, and Crowley moved to stand closer, so Aziraphale could see him.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Hi, angel. It's okay, you're safe.” Aziraphale sometimes didn't remember this when he first woke up, so Crowley made a point to always reassure him. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Aziraphale said, but he was smiling up at Crowley. “Cold.”

“I know, love. That'll stop soon, I promise.” He smiled, and dared to lean over and kiss Aziraphale's brow. “I love you so much. Go back to sleep. You'll heal faster, if you rest. I love you.”

“Silly snake. Love you too.” Aziraphale smiled and closed his eyes. 

Right. That was goodbyes said, and Aziraphale healed. “Why is he so tired?” Crowley asked. “He'll need help to get back home. He can't take himself like this.”

The angel actually looked a little confused at this. “The nature of his injuries was such that we could only act as...as conduits. Show him how to heal himself. It's his own energy he was using. And. Ah. We will. Get him home?” They looked unsure, but Crowley was comfortable with the reply. Perhaps being a healer gave even an angel a bit of compassion. Sure, not enough to invest in a pillow, but baby steps.

“Right.” Crowley touched Aziraphale's hand, one last goodbye. One last reminder. Aziraphale knew he was so, so loved. And he loved Crowley. That would have to do. He faced the angelic quartet. “I'll stay. A life for a life. We agreed.”

Gabriel's face broke. He snickered, which turned into a full-on guffaw. And Sandalphon broke into laughter too, quickly joined by Uriel, who punched him in the shoulder, and got a playful punch back, the two of them clinging to each other in their mirth.

“What.” Crowley said. “The fuck.”

“We don't want  _ you _ ,” Michael said scornfully. Of course she couldn't even laugh. “What do you think we are, a clearinghouse for indigent spirits? Crowley, no one cares. About either of you.”

“You thought this was  _ hard _ ?” Gabriel hooted. “You thought the might of Heaven would struggle with a little healing, for the least important of us?” He wiped his eyes. “This was nothing for us. Absolutely nothing.”

Crowley thought about how tired Aziraphale was, and how pale, and how weak he looked, and he held on. Losing his shit would be  _ incredibly _ fun right now, but it wouldn't help either of them, and he was smarter than flipping out at Gabriel, as deeply satisfying as that would be. He didn't need pride or respect or anything from these shitlords. He had his angel, and he had a way out, and that's all he ever, ever wanted in this stinking world.

“Go,” Michael said, waving her hand. “Thanks for the amusement. It was very cute to watch you pretend you had value. To pretend  _ he _ has value.”

“Well you won't have to worry about him getting home,” Uriel shrieked, amidst her laughter. 

Sandalphon just smiled and waved his hand, and Crowley watched in horror as Aziraphale's body rose off of the marble slab. He took a step towards it, but Sandalphon was ahead of him.

It was like watching a rag doll be flung across a room, but at least the aim was true. Aziraphale crashed into Crowley and sent him sprawling. He landed hard on one hip, but that didn't matter – he'd cushioned the angel's landing, and had Aziraphale in his arms now. Tangled in that horrible, thin sheet, no protection at all against anything.

“Right, well, it's been fun,” Crowley drawled, standing up with Aziraphale in his arms. Thank whoever, he hadn't even stirred. No, that wasn't quite true – even now he rolled his head, resting it against Crowley's shoulder. Just a little longer, he promised his angel. I'll have you home and in bed and with a hundred hot water bottles around you. I'll turn the heat up and make you tea and read to you, anything you like. You'll be so warm and loved, you won't remember a moment of this, he swore to them both.

He left Heaven to the sound of laughing angels, and the final sounds of Gabriel commenting on Aziraphale's body, and the lack of tone thereof.

Crowley was going to see to it that Aziraphale didn't have to lift a finger for himself until he was quite well again, and also there would be plenty of cake to go with the tea and the books and everything else.

He rode the lift down to the ground floor, cradling the dear body in his arms, and once he was sure he was on Earth proper, miracled them right back into Aziraphale's bedroom, as cozy and homey and welcoming as he'd ever remembered it. 

It was so full of colour and soft shapes. Books everywhere of course, but also Aziraphale's vanity, full of cosmetics and perfumes and colognes, beautiful things to look at and smell and touch. Crowley had seen his jewellery box, had helped him pick out earrings or a necklace or whatever from time to time, and knew it was full of beauty too.

And of course, there was the bed, a vast thing with a great headboard and footboard, lovely dark carved wood, full of pillows and quilts and blankets, and always neatly made.

Crowley twitched his head, and the covers drew back for him, and he settled Aziraphale gently. He pulled the white sheet away – how did it manage to have Heaven's chill cling to it? – and burned it in seconds. None of that touching his angel. Instead he pulled the blankets up and tucked Aziraphale in. A snap and there were hot water bottles at his feet and his back and his chest, all deliciously toasty. He adjusted the thermostat by hand, but already colour was starting to come back into Aziraphale's face, and Crowley fancied he relaxed a little, and sighed happily.

All his exhaustion hit at once. He had done so much, and been so afraid, and then so brave. Did he dare –? Would it hurt Aziraphale?

Crowley forced his brain to think this one through, because it was important, and decided finally that it was better to be near Aziraphale if he woke and needed something, and chance bumping against him too roughly. He kicked his boots off, thought about it, disappeared the rest of his clothes, and slipped into the bed beside Aziraphale. Not touching him – no telling how sensitive newly-healed skin might be – but near. Close enough to touch, close enough to hear anything, close enough –

Crowley was asleep before he could finish the thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole chapter is pure, shameless comfort and I LOVED writing it

When Crowley awoke some indeterminate time later, his first thought was that he was finally warm enough, and now that he'd discovered this, he would have to keep the heat turned up all winter and hope Aziraphale didn't notice. His second thought was that he shouldn't have worried about being too close, for clearly touch didn't hurt Aziraphale any. His third thought was that he knew this because Aziraphale was snuggled in his arms, their bodies intertwined, and the angel was so deeply, happily asleep he was both snoring lightly and dribbling a little on Crowley's chest.

“Ew,” Crowley whispered, voice shaking with affection. He moved to press a long kiss to the top of Aziraphale's head, not even minding too much how his hair tickled Crowley's nose. (Possibly he loved the feeling, and loved how intimate it felt.)

Aziraphale stirred and Crowley froze, but he didn't wake, just hunkered down a little closer, sighing very softly.

“There we are,” Crowley whispered. “Everything's all right, love. I'll make everything so nice for you.”

Aziraphale didn't stir, and Crowley relaxed a little. They were home, and Aziraphale was tired, and weak, but his body was healed. And his soul – Crowley sniffed the air, then tucked his head into the crook of Aziraphale's neck, flicking his tongue out just for a moment, tasting and smelling, snake and demon. Oh, poor love. Tired and weak and fragile there, too, but what was shattered had been mended, and now just needed to strengthen. Crowley flicked his tongue out again, and ensured that if Aziraphale dreamt, it would be sweet dreams. He'd have to remember to do this every time Aziraphale drifted off, at least for a bit. Just to make sure.

It was another hour or so before Aziraphale stirred again, truly waking up this time with a little grunt and a 'hmm' and a small but very contented wriggle.

Crowley, who definitely had not spent the intervening time gazing at him and thinking how much he really _deeply_ enjoyed being in love, shifted a little so that Aziraphale was held more by the pillows than by him, just in case. “Easy,” he murmured. “Take your time, angel, you've been through a lot. You're safe, though. You're at home, safe and sound.”

“Mmmmrrr.” Aziraphale opened one eye, then another. They were blue today, and Crowley smiled at him.

“Hullo you.”

“Morning,” Aziraphale said, and gave a little stretch, and a groan. “Oh. That's much better.”

“Good.” Crowley laid a hand on Aziraphale's waist under the covers, very lightly. “Is that all right?”

“Mmmhmm. I don't hurt.” Aziraphale blinked slowly, his brain still getting into gear. “Simply tired. I think?” He shook his head. “Sorry. I'm all fuzzy.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. They said it was all your energy that healed you, they just showed you how,” Crowley said, rubbing the side of Aziraphale's tummy, his thumb tracing the sweet curve of it. “Oh, I love you.”

“You told me that. In Heaven.” Aziraphale smiled slowly. “I remember. I was so cold, but you said you loved me, and I'd be warm soon.”

“Uh huh. I had to check they'd done as I told them.”

“Bossy demon!” Aziraphale chuckled, and Crowley wondered if he could get away with not telling Aziraphale the whole story. Probably not. But he could _ definitely _ buy time! Decades, if he was lucky! And it would hardly be a row. Aziraphale might find it very funny.

Yeah. Definitely.

Crowley kept rubbing Aziraphale's tummy, assured that it wasn't hurting him, and they snuggled together under the blankets, slowly waking up together.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Crowley asked. “Coffee, of course. We've got some lovely pastries. Or an omelette? Anything you like, angel, I'll bring it up to you.”

“Oh, thank you my dear. I think I'll just start with a cup of coffee.” Aziraphale paused. “And perhaps a bit of buttered toast. Just one slice, please. I don't have much of an appetite.”

“Of course,” Crowley promised. He could plan a lot of small meals. Or not – they didn't _ have _ to eat. He just really, really, really liked watching Aziraphale enjoy food.

Miracled food was okay, but there was nothing like really making breakfast, so, reluctantly, Crowley made to leave the bed.

“Crowley! What happened!”

He looked down and winced. There was a huge bruise blossoming from his hip, where he'd landed when he caught Aziraphale. “Oh, that one's. Uh. Courtesy Sandalphon,” he said carefully. Because it was, and also Aziraphale was absolutely not to know that it was gained when Crowley caught his weight.

“We will be having a discussion later,” Aziraphale said primly, but also quite firmly. He reached out from under the covers and ran his hand along Crowley's hip, touch infinitely gentle, and of course the bruise vanished, and the pain along with it.”

“_ Aziraphale _.” He'd gone and lost his fucking mind, that was the only explanation. “You're weak as a kitten and healing yourself, you shouldn't have, that bruise was nothing!”

“It was black and purple and hurt terribly, and it _ was _ something,” Aziraphale told him back. “I feel fine, love.” He smiled, small and sweet. “Also, you couldn't be angry with me now if you tried.”

Crowley lay back down and screamed into a pillow. He looked over and Aziraphale gave a happy little wiggle.

“You,” Crowley said. “Are _ impossible _.”

“I'm baby,” Aziraphale said proudly, and Crowley had to scream into the pillow again.

“I see I'll be having words with the baby queers again,” he threatened darkly, when he could face the world once more. They _ knew _ they weren't to teach Aziraphale memes, Crowley had _ repeatedly _ told them. The angel always mixed them up and it was incredibly awkward, and also far more charming that it had any right to be.

“Stop talking about our children like that,” Aziraphale said, even as he smiled and squirmed a little closer, taking full advantage of Crowley still being on the bed. “I wish you would, though, I think Adrien's still hurting from their breakup with Rhys. And I really am out of commission for a bit.”

Crowley made a sympathetic noise. “I'll take them out for coffee, when I can trust you on your own for an hour,” he promised. “I'll take care of them for you.”

“You take care of them whether I'm around or not. I love you.” Aziraphale leaned over for a kiss. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast.” One more kiss, because he couldn't stop himself, and Crowley headed downstairs. He made the fancy coffee where he boiled it with eggshells, and a few extra pieces of toast, just in case.

Aziraphale managed a piece of toast, but plenty of coffee, well-doctored with cream. He could sit up with Crowley's help and leaning against a frankly obscene pile of pillows, and Crowley was satisfied with both of these things.

Aziraphale was chatty and sweet and bright-eyed while they breakfasted together, but had fallen asleep before Crowley even returned from running their dishes to his little kitchen.

“That's it,” Crowley murmured, settling Aziraphale a little more horizontally. “Rest is the best thing for you. Sleep a bit, and heal. When you're a little better I'll check in on the kids, and then take you to Scotland, and you don't have to worry about anything at all. Not while I'm on the clock.” He kissed Aziraphale's forehead, tucked him in a little more firmly, and settled down with the crossword puzzle, very content to have his angel snoozing beside him.

Aziraphale woke a few hours later, slow and deliciously cuddly. Pattern established, Crowley wondered how they had even _ gotten _ him to wake up so suddenly in Heaven, and if it had hurt. Well, no matter. He could pet his angel and croon to him, settling them so that Aziraphale's head was pillowed on Crowley's chest just over his heart. Crowley thought himself rather bony, nothing like the plush series of surfaces that made up Aziraphale's body, but the big idiot still loved draping himself over Crowley, so who was he to argue?

Aziraphale was sweet and smiling again, and Crowley hated to ask, but it was best to make sure. To know the worst now, at the beginning.

“Love, let me see your wings?” he requested. “I want to check them.”

Aziraphale gave a little shrug, rolling his shoulders back, and manifested his wings. Crowley somehow got him set up so he could lie back against the pillows again, mostly upright, and they could both check for anything unhealed.

It was as the angels had promised, though – bones repaired and skin made whole, but Aziraphale's feathers would have to grow in themselves. Crowley laid his hand over one of the bare patches, feathers just barely starting to grow in, and stroked the thin skin with the gentlest touch he could manage. He took a deep breath and moved to fix a messy patch of feathers nearby, Aziraphale never much of one to take care of his wings beyond the basics.

“Oh, look at me,” Aziraphale said. “Like a baby bird.” His voice shook a little, and Crowley looked up, and locked eyes with him.

“Oh, darlin',” he breathed, and gathered Aziraphale to him. “Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, voice shaking. “All of it.”

“I should never have checked, never have made you --”

“I did, though,” Aziraphale cut in. “I remembered before, it was just...a little farther away. This didn't trigger anything new.” His arms came around Crowley's waist, weak but _ there _. “You saved me, my dear. Several times over, I think.” He kissed Crowley's neck, the only bit he could reach without moving his head. “I do love you so.”

“I love you,” Crowley said, his voice definitely quavery, and they just held one another for a long time. Every minute took them further from Aziraphale being tortured, from spears through his wings and knives carving through his skin. Every minute was another minute together in the big, soft bed, where nothing was uncomfortable or painful, and everything was arranged for kindness and pleasure.

Speaking of – he settled Aziraphale gently and really did tend to his wings, smoothing feathers and making sure nothing itched, while Aziraphale smiled at him, content to lie still and be pampered. As well he ought, Crowley figured. They were well-suited to one another for many reasons, but Aziraphale's patience with Crowley needing to take care of him, to treat him to things and _ show _ his love – he thought that might be what made them best-suited. Crowley needed to give, and Aziraphale received with so much joy and love, he could bask in it forever.

Soon enough his wings were tended to and Aziraphale folded them away, sleepy-eyed and sweet. “Take a nap again,” Crowley encouraged, helping him lie down and settling the pillows around him. He'd have to run a few errands, let the kids know what was up, and it was best if Aziraphale felt held in his sleep, even if it was by clearly inferior things than Crowley himself.

“I don't want to,” Aziraphale confessed, and laughed. “I want to spend time with you.”

“I'll be here when you wake up,” Crowley promised. “And we've still got our place in Scotland. You'll be sick of me within a week, once we're up there.”

“I look forward to it.” Aziraphale tugged Crowley down and kissed him. “I love you. My love to our babies, all right?”

“Always.” Crowley stroked his hair until he was asleep, a matter of a few minutes, and set about preparing to leave the sleeping angel for, perhaps, a whole hour. Plenty of pillows, an extra blanket, a glass of water by the bed and some of Aziraphale's favourite books. Crowley even added one or two that had print such that reading didn't make his head ache or his eyes go too funny; he could read aloud to Aziraphale later. He added a small plate of biscuits and, satisfied that Aziraphale's greatest needs would be tended to, went down to make sure the shop was still all there.

He sent a few strategic texts, and within fifteen minutes the shop was filling nicely.

Aziraphale, protector of queer people that he was, was a kind of mobile, cocoa-drinking community centre just by himself, though it _ was _ handy when the actual community centre had opened up just down the block. Still, for their inner circle, nothing would do but the bookshop. They were both quite used to it by now, and even Crowley thought of them as _ their _ kids, and never mind that only about half of them were actually teenagers.

Crowley caught them up, rapidly coming up with a severe case of flu and a night in hospital, and accepted hugs and a cup of tea Ellie had made just for him, and a cooky Aiden had baked. No, they didn't need meals or anything like that. Yes, Crowley would carry their love back, and never mind that Aziraphale, just a few hundred meters away, could definitely feel the love filling the shop. Of course they could visit him when he wasn't sleeping all day, and Crowley mentally pushed off their little holiday a bit later. Soho needed its Principality. Also, he made sure to tell them, Aziraphale loved them all. That was always a good reminder for everyone.

“I'm. I'm fine.” Crowley blinked hard. Three people had chorused the question to him together, how was _ he _, and then broke down in giggles. “Of course I'm fine, I'm not the one who's. Ehm.”

“You're an _ idiot _,” Ellie said warmly. They had known her since the eighties, when she'd run a meals on wheels program for people dying of AIDS and had used the bookshop as a kind of distribution hub. Crowley was one hundred per cent certain she'd figured out who he and Aziraphale really were, but was far too polite to bring it up. She was six feet tall and about as wide, and Crowley loved her with all his heart, even moreso after she nearly broke his ribs with a hug just then. “Make sure you're taking care of yourself too, all right duck? You've had a time of it as well.”

“I'm fine,” Crowley protested again, and ignored the extremely pointed looks everyone was giving each other. Having kids who loved you was the _ worst _.

Crowley made a coffee date with Adrien, hugged everyone goodbye and reminded them that they were perfect and loved. He reiterated the rule about teaching Aziraphale memes, reminded them once more that they were perfect and loved just to make sure, and promised again to relay their love to Aziraphale.

“We love you too!” Ezra sang out as zie closed the door behind zir, and Crowley turned out the lights and lay down gently on the floor to have at least three and perhaps as many as five feelings, before going back up to check on Aziraphale.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, when he woke up from his nap, not so very much later. “They were very kind to you, weren't they?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, and looked up from where he'd been lying face-down in his pillow after getting about twenty texts reminding him to be easy with himself and was he sure they didn't need to start a meal train?

“Poor demon,” Aziraphale soothed, and rubbed his back. “Now tell me all the tea, for God's sake.”

Crowley curled on his side and caught the Principality of Soho up on the state of his children; loves and worries and fears and who needed a bit of cash and who needed room to breathe and just be. “And they said to tell you they loved you,” he concluded. “A lot. They love you so much, Zira.”

Aziraphale blushed and hmm'd and made modest noises. “Of course they do, I'm their protector.”

“No,” Crowley said firmly. They'd had this talk before, and he saw it was time to have it again. “I mean, yes, obviously that too. But they love _ you _, who you are, separate from all else. They miss you, and care about you.” He smirked. “Not as much as me, but close.”

Azirpahale laughed and leaned over to kiss Crowley on the tip of his nose. “Cheek. I'm sure I'll be able to go down and say hello soon. I feel so much better already.”

“Good.” Crowley sat up, and petted Aziraphale's hair. All this time in bed had given it a new level of fluff. “Do you want me to read to you, darlin'?”

Aziraphale pushed himself up too, able to sit up under his own power already. “Take off your glasses.” He examined Crowley's face carefully, once he'd done so, and nodded, satisfied when he didn't see any lines of strain around Crowley's eyes. “You may read to me for half an hour. No more. You're not to get a headache, do you understand?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “_ Angel _. That's nothing. Look, I even grabbed a few of the books I can read all right,” he said, and reached over him, definitely purposefully resting on Aziraphale's lap for as long as possible. “Sorry there's not much to pick from,” he muttered.

“My very dearest.” Aziraphale rolled Crowley over, peered down at him, and brushed a few strands of hair out of Crowley's face. “I love the books you picked out. I love you. I love that you'll read to me, even with your eyes as they are. It's my greatest treat, but only when I know it isn't causing you pain.” He stroked Crowley's hair, slow and easy. “That's my deal with you. That you take care of yourself, until I can take care of you again, all right?”

Crowley gave a full-body shiver. The last angel he'd tried to make a deal with...did not have these things in mind. “All right,” he said softly. “I promise, Aziraphale.”

“Good. I want to hear this one,” Aziraphale said, making his selection and handing it to Crowley. “And I want to lay my head in your lap while you read and I want you to rub my back, please.”

“Anything you want,” Crowley said, too dizzy with everything to even tease Aziraphale about his demanding ways.

They both got lost in the story, and Crowley read aloud for over an hour, but Aziraphale forgave him immediately, of course. “It's both our faults,” he said, and wriggled so that he could get his arms around Crowley's waist, and fell instantly asleep still in his lap, warm and heavy and his face wreathed in contentment.

Crowley _definitely_ had several feelings, then, and was grateful for the privacy a sleeping angel gave him.

Aziraphale grew stronger every day, soon getting out of bed for a few hours at a time. Simply to sit, of course, and he had to lean on Crowley to walk more than a few steps, but his eyes were bright and he smiled easily, and Crowley would have given his whole life ten times over to see Aziraphale so well, and better every day. The third day after he came home he only took a single nap, and on the fifth they opened the shop up for the kids again. Crowley helped him downstairs, well-bundled against any hint of winter chill in the air, and Aziraphale settled happily in his usual chair, moments before being mobbed by his beloved chosen ones.

Crowley hovered quietly in the background, making tea and watching Aziraphale in his element. He didn't even mind too much when Asher started to explain a new meme, against the _ specific instructions _of the Serpent of Eden, the fearful Demon Crowley.

The kettle was going and the plate of biscuits was getting low, so Crowley went to busy himself with taking care of all of that when he was intercepted by Ellie and Ezra.

“We've got it,” Ellie said. “Relax. Sit with us, will you?”

“I know you, you've been taking care of _ him _ all week,” Ezra said, mimicking Ellie's tone. “Rest a bit, petal, and let us do for you.”

“You are a_ literal child _,” Crowley said. “You're not allowed to call me petal.”

“Of course I am, petal.” Ezra smiled winsomely. Zie had met Ellie and instantly modelled zirself after her. Crowley was, frankly, a little frightened at the concept of that much powerhouse in only two humans.

“You're really not,” Crowley muttered.

“Don't listen to the mean old person,” Ellie told Ezra sweetly. “You call Crowley petal all you want.” And then she bodily pushed Crowley into a chair, and went to make tea.

Aziraphale, who of course had heard the whole thing, gave him a shit-eating smile, Crowley simultaneously glowered at him and fell in love even more.

The angel of the Eastern Gate managed another hour, soothing hurting hearts and encouraging and laughing at their jokes even as he started to droop, exhaustion plain around his eyes.

“I love you all so much,” he promised, accepting hugs and kisses goodbye, and admonitions to take care of himself, and let them know if he or Crowley needed anything.

Crowley firmly shoved the last of them out of the shop, slipping Angela a few hundred quid so she could make rent and hugging Ezra an extra time, just so zie knew for absolute certain not to go do something really stupid and take Crowley's grumping seriously. He probably didn't have to worry, but it wouldn't do to interfere with anyone protected by a whole Principality.

“I love you too,” Ezra whispered in his ear, kissed his cheek, and went on zir merry way.

“Bed,” Crowley ordered, heading back to Aziraphale, after he'd paused near the front of the store to stare at a wall for a few minutes and reset himself to a demon who was _ totally cool _ and not affected by love _ in the least _.

“I'm fine,” the angel protested, very predictably, even as Crowley scooped him up in his arms.

“Good, because we're going to Scotland tomorrow,” he said, and Aziraphale lit up, head snuggled against Crowley's shoulder as he was carried up to bed.

“A holiday! Crowley, truly. You give me too much.”

“Literally no such thing,” Crowley said. “I'll read to you for a bit, but then you ought to rest.”

“I couldn't possibly. All I've done is sleep for _ days _.”

“Lie down and rest your eyes or I'll tell Ellie on you.”

“I'll be good,” Aziraphale said quickly, and Crowley grinned. And felt extremely justified in both his fussing and the threat, when Aziraphale drifted off barely half an hour later.

“Are you sure those are the only books you want to bring?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale was settled on their bed, cross-legged and with a satchel in his arms. He had carefully packed it with three books Crowley could read easily, plus two more that they both enjoyed when Aziraphale read aloud.

“Quite sure.” Aziraphale took one look and grinned. “_ Crowley _. You've already said it's pretty much a bed in a library. I trust you.” He fixed Crowley with a chiding look. “Not to manifest books you can read without getting a migraine, but that is a personal failing we've discussed previously.”

“I don't mean to,” Crowley mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It's hard to miracle them. Books don't like me, I think.”

“Oh, love. I didn't know. I'm sorry.” Gentle arms drew around him, and pulled Crowley into a little cuddle. “You should have told me, I'd take care of such things for you,” Aziraphale said.

“You shouldn't have to,” Crowley mumbled. “_ My _ stupid eyes.”

“What if taking care of it – of you – is my joy?” Aziraphale hugged Crowley tightly for good measure. “Books may not like you, but I love you. And your eyes. Now come on, I even put on proper clothes, let's go!”

Crowley laughed and kissed him. “Close your eyes, I want it to be a surprise. And hold tight!” This wasn't necessary for the miracle that would take them to the place Crowley had built, but it felt nice, so they did it.

Crowley miracled them straight into the other bed he'd conjured into existence, not about to let Aziraphale have a moment of anything but total comfort. “Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart.” He snapped his fingers again, and logs lit themselves in the fireplace. More for looks than anything; the room was already wonderfully warm. Crowley looked around for one final check, slipping away from Aziraphale's arms to make sure everything was absolutely as perfect as it could be, and only then let Aziraphale open his eyes.

“Oh, my dear,” he breathed in, gazing around. The room was large, high-ceiling'd and ornate, with vast windows that looked out onto the mountains, and a loch gleaming in the distance. It was early afternoon, but of course the sun set very early still, and long rays of sun dyed the winter hills golden. The fire crackled obligingly, and there was an inviting armchair and ottoman nearby, and of course a loveseat for snuggling. (Or for Crowley to manage his best approximation of sitting.) The bed was a vast four-poster thing, full of bolsters and pillows and topped by heavy quilts, a beautiful tapestry making up the canopy, so that someone who might have to lie down most of the day still had something interesting to gaze at.

And, of course, the books. The room was lined with bookcases, all of them full, and Aziraphale was actually dumbstruck for a moment, getting up and going over to the nearest wall to run his fingertips along their spines. “Oh, Crowley,” he breathed. “You made this for me.”

“Er, well. Yes. I did promise you.” Crowley blushed. “Do you like it?”

“Darling, I love it. I love you.” Aziraphale carefully set his satchel down on a small table, and returned to Crowley, pulling him into a hug and a kiss. “You're wonderful.” He giggled. “All this time just for us.”

“And for you to rest, and get better,” Crowley reminded him. “It wasn't just your body that was hurt.” He touched Aziraphale's chin, tilting his face up, and kissed him softly. “We've got to take care of that spirit, too.”

“Oh, that was always safest with you,” Aziraphale said airily, like he hadn't just taken all the oxygen out of Crowley's lungs. “Come and sit by the fire with me.” He snapped, and a tea service appeared.

“I've told you to stop that!” Crowley squawked. Miracles were _ off-limits _, but of course Aziraphale was incorrigible, and equally of course he settled beside him and accepted a cup of tea and a biscuit. Both were very good.

They enjoyed their tea while Aziraphale took in the room, exclaiming over little touches as he found them – a photo of the two of them over the fireplace, or Aziraphale's second-best dressing-gown tucked into a corner. Once refreshed, he got up and explored more thoroughly, pausing and pulling down a book for later.

Crowley sat on his hands so he wouldn't hover – Aziraphale was more than strong enough to wander slowly around a room, now. And anyway, he returned to the bed soon enough, settling himself contentedly with the book he'd found and quickly losing himself between the pages.

Evening was falling fast now, and the lamps slowly came on, filling the room with a golden glow. Crowley sat before the fire and watched the hills fill with shadows, and listened to the silence, broken only sometimes by the crackling flames, or the sound of pages turning. He was deliciously warm. And here, so far from everything else, where the sky was vast and the mountains soft and comforting walls, Aziraphale dying felt impossible. The horrific warehouse, the spears through his wings, the fear of heaven, it was all distant. A memory, that couldn't hurt them any longer...

“Shh, Crowley. You don't have to wake up all the way. You'll be more comfortable in bed.” Someone – no, definitely Aziraphale – was stroking his hair, easing him awake. Not really. Enough to get up. “I'm sorry, love, I can't carry you. There, just a few steps and no, sweetheart, I'll take care of your shoes. I'll take care of everything.”

“'S'alright,” Crowley slurred, definitely still mostly asleep. He didn't even really open his eyes, just went where he was guided, and oh he'd been at his best with this _ bed _, it was glorious.

“Yes, everything's all right.” Aziraphale's voice was so strong, and his hands sure as he got Crowley a little more comfortable. “Under the quilts, please, you're going to get cold in a moment.”

“Won't.” Crowley groaned as a frankly incredible weight of wool, linen and down settled atop him. “Wake me if y'need anything.”

“I absolutely will not. Sleep. I love you, Crowley.”

Crowley stayed awake just long enough to feel the kiss laid on his temple, and then slept so deeply he didn't even dream.

It was inevitable, Crowley supposed. Aziraphale could only lose himself in the hundreds of books for so long. They actually couldn't cuddle and kiss forever, although goodness knew they often tried. And Aziraphale was so much better; though he still couldn't do much, he slept far less, and no longer needed naps.

So it wasn't terribly surprising, on a particularly rainy day when there wasn't even much of a view, that Aziraphale set his book aside and beckoned Crowley over. He started with a cuddle and a kiss, trickster that he was, and then dropped the bombshell.

“Crowley? Tell me what happened in Heaven?”

Crowley made a face. “Oh, you don't want to hear about that, angel. Stupid. Over with.”

“I do, though. And now more than before.” Aziraphale's face creased with anxiety. “I know they can't have been good to either of us. Please, love. All I remember is being so cold, and you saying you loved me. Why did it feel like a goodbye?”

Crowley winced. “Fine. But you have to promise not to get mad.” He caught Aziraphale's hands. “I mean it. Please promise you won't get angry with me?”

“Crowley, what did you _ do _?” Aziraphale asked softly. He raised Crowley's hands and kissed the backs of them. “I love you. I promise I won't be angry. Just please, tell me? It was a huge, brave thing for you to do, and I want to know what happened.”

Crowley slid close so that he straddled Aziraphale's thighs, the two of them facing each other. Aziraphale lay back against a pile of pillows, cradled and soft and safe, and Crowley felt all long limbs and sharp angles in contrast. His complement.

He took Aziraphale's hands in his, rubbing his thumbs across his knuckles, warming and comforting them both with the contact. “I went in the usual way – your usual way, I mean. The...receptionist? I don't think I made her day any better.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “No, I can't imagine she was expecting you. Us.”

Crowley made a face. “She called you an it, she can suffer a little.” He kissed the back of Aziraphale's hand. He could get through this. “She did summon healers, though. They didn't touch you.” He blinked, realizing this. “Oh, angel, they never touched you, never made sure you were comfortable, or comforted you. I watched them...levitate you, I guess. So they could see your wounds.” Another kiss, and Aziraphale freed one hand to stroke Crowley's hair. “And then the big four showed up. Gabriel and his whole...gang.”

“Good grief. Don't they have a world to run?”

“Is what I asked them!” Crowley laughed, pleased with this example of how they were _ them _ . “Maybe it was their off day or something.” His smile softened. “They were arseholes, of course, the lot of them. Think they thought _ I'd _ done that to you.”

Aziraphale made a raw sound.

“Hush, love. We argued a bit, and I pointed out that yes you _ were _ in stasis and _ that _ was my doing, because Option B was. Well. Not acceptable.” Crowley swallowed hard. “Zira, please, may I kiss you?”

Aziraphale beat him to it, pulling him close for a lingering kiss, one hand stroking his back. The angel was so good at being _ there _, at being unmistakeably present, it chased the memories and fears of holding his too-still body, of seeing the glowing sigils on his skin, a little farther away.

“What next, dear?” Aziraphale asked, when Crowley was a little calmer.

“They said some stupid things about it being easier to find a stronger angel – I said that was what you needed to heal.” Crowley looked down. “And then. Right, remember, you said you wouldn't get mad.”

“You're really frightened,” Aziraphale said slowly. “Oh, sweetheart. I won't. I promise. I love you so much right now.”

Crowley peeked up at him. “I promised them anything they wanted, if they'd heal you. So they took you away, they put you on this awful steel table, and all I could think was that at least you never were bothered by the cold. And that they'd help you get better. So I went with the others – some room, somewhere. And we negotiated.”

“All right,” Aziraphale said slowly. “Go on, love.”

“I reiterated that they could have anything, if my conditions were met. That you be healed, body and soul. That you be allowed to return to Earth.” Crowley smiled a little, remembering. “I thought you'd be so happy, able to go out for coffee and pastries. We have to do that when we get back, angel, you're so much better. You can lean on me if you need to, or we'll dig out your walking stick, but I don't think you'll need it, and we can go to that little place --”

“Focus, darling,” Aziraphale said. “So that was your bargain? Anything, for me to have my life back?”

“Anything,” Crowley said. “I promised to stop with the demonic wiles – I mean, you know I don't really do much anyway these days – or give them a line to Hell, or anything.” He took a deep breath. “Then Sandalphon asked if I would stay there. In Heaven.”

Aziraphale went very, very still.

“So I told him yes. If that was the deal, I'd stay, and they could do anything to me, you just had to be free and healed.” Crowley swallowed hard. “They said all right. That was the deal.”

“I hope you know I'd be breaking you out before I'd even hardly touched the ground.”

Crowley smiled weakly. “I thought that might be a thing. But I also. I didn't...mind. Angel, I'd miss you with all my being, but you'd be _ free _. You'd miss me too, of course, I'm not stupid, but you could go to museums and eat little cakes and –ack!”

This because Aziraphale had _ tackled _ him. It was the fastest he'd moved in days, and the strongest, and he had pretty shamelessly used his greater weight to pin Crowley to bed. Gently – Crowley could have gotten free with even the slightest effort – but very definitely knocking him over and holding him in place, like cats teaching each other a lesson.

“_ Miss you _ ?” Aziraphale hissed. “Would I _ miss _ my heart if you cut it out of my chest? Would I miss my wings if you ripped them away? Miss the colour in the world, if you drained it all away? That's how I would _ miss you _ , Crowley. I wouldn't be free at all, I wouldn't _ have you _ , the other half of me, my _ best friend _ , my beloved.” He kissed Crowley fiercely, mouth open, hungry and demanding. “That's what I think of _ that _,” he said.

“Eeep,” Crowley said.

“Are you a little turned on?” Aziraphale asked, soundly deeply tired of the inevitable response.

“...Maybe?” Crowley smiled weakly. They might not have been sexual creatures, but they could joke about it. “I love you. I'm sorry. I know I was lying to myself, and I was pretty sure you would find me just to kill me yourself, but I had to, love. I _ had _ to give anything, so you'd be all right. You said you wouldn't get angry!”

Aziraphale made a growly kind of noise, but he also sat back, and helped Crowley back to sitting in his lap, hands on his waist now, holding him a little closer.

“I'm not angry,” he said. “I'm sad. That you thought that your freedom was the only thing of value you have. I love you, Crowley. Tell me what happened next.”

“They accepted, of course,” Crowley said. “My life for yours. Oh, they were arseholes about it, as much as asked me what I saw in you. Why I thought you were worth giving up my life and my freedom.” He smiled sadly. “They've got no idea, do they? Are you the only angel ever, who had someone fall in love with them? _ Really _ fall in love, not some saint having ecstasies, but the Saturday-morning-coffee and walks-in-the-park and reading-to-each-other in love?”

“I think I am,” Aziraphale said. “Nearly certain of it. Crowley, I'm so lucky.”

“Not as much as me.” Crowley shook his head. “I think that's when...I pity them, angel. They could have had you as a _ friend _. Any one of them could have watched your face light up at some new treat, or old book. Or a hug, or a story. All the things I've watched you love about the world, but they'll never see that. I couldn't even be angry. No one's ever loved them, and it's their own fault.

“So we made our deal. And soon after, you were healed. I had to make sure, and I wanted to say goodbye, so we went over to where the healers had been working on you.” Crowley shivered, remembering. “I've never seen you so pale, laid out on marble with nothing but a thin white sheet over you.” He ducked his head suddenly, and kissed Aziraphale's belly.

“Oh, Gabriel was like _ that _, was he?” Aziraphale asked dryly. He could recognize the signs now.

“Mmmhmm.”

“You know,” Aziraphale said. “I think I'd like to have cake with our tea, today. A big, lovely, scrummy slice of cake. With lots of icing.”

“I'd like that too,” Crowley said, and kissed Aziraphale's belly again, before straightening up. “Angel, this next bit. It's not very nice.”

“As opposed to the rest of the story?” Aziraphale cupped Crowley's jaw in one hand. “I'm here in our little paradise with the being I love most in the world. Tell me how you brought me home, dearest.”

“I made them wake you up – I'm sorry, I don't think it was pleasant,” Crowley apologized. “That's what you remember. I wanted you to never forget that. That I love you so much.” He took a deep breath. “I made sure they'd get you home safe – you remember, you could hardly move – and then. They started _ laughing _. Said they didn't want either of us, that we were useless to them. It had all been a big joke. Healing you wasn't a big deal for Heaven, Gabriel said. Wasn't anything. Like us.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale let a breath out. “Well. Not really a shock, you know? To be worthless to them.”

“Mmm.” Crowley looked like he'd eaten a lemon.

“Crowley?”

“Mmm?”

“You are _ everything _,” Aziraphale said, in a voice that resounded, that spoke of angelic things. The Principality of the Eastern Gate thought Crowley was everything, and he was damn well going to imprint that knowledge on the world.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley said softly. “You think I ever cared what they thought about me?” He leaned in, kissed Aziraphale's collarbone, warm and hard under the cotton of his shirt. “So they said we could go. Sandalphon had to have his fun though – he picked you up with a miracle, I think, and threw you at me. I'm afraid I'm not a very soft landing, and we both hit the deck.”

“Oh, sweetheart. That's how you got that bruise?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley nodded. “Then I'm doubly glad I healed it. Sandalphon's quite unbearable, isn't he?”

Crowley shivered. “He's not right. Even for that lot – he's made _ wrong _.” He smiled, though, the end of his story near. “And that was it. I carried you down to Earth, and miracled us home. Tucked you in bed and made sure you were warm and well-loved, and had everything you might ever need to finish healing. And that's it. That's all of it.”

“It felt so wonderful, waking up in your arms” Aziraphale said. “I was weak, of course, and didn't feel quite right, but you were right _ there _, and you took such good care of me. Take such good care.” He leaned in and kissed Crowley sweetly. “There, and I didn't even get angry. Not really.”

Crowley smiled, and twisted so he was more firmly in Aziraphale's lap, and so he could rest his head on the angel's shoulder. “Thank you. I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do.”

“You were perfect,” Aziraphale comforted. “And so incredibly brave. Oh, sweetheart, you've had a time of it. It's all right, though. Everything's all right now. You made me this beautiful place, and you haven't let me want for anything. I love you so much.”

Crowley just smiled, content that he'd made his angel happy, and done for him, and would keep doing for him a few more days yet, before they returned to their regular life. Which wasn't exactly devoid of cuddles in bed, cake with tea, or crackling fireplaces.

As Aziraphale regained his strength and energy, their getaway became a bit more like a holiday, or even perhaps a second honeymoon. (Or a first, really, since they'd not so much ever formally married as realized, at one point, that they existed in a kind of general married state, and had done so for some time.) Aziraphale took over more of the reading-aloud duties, and Crowley sprawled a lot more. He was still attentive, of course, and took care of any and all miracles required, including building a palatial bathroom that was closer to a Roman bath than anything else. And, of course, they began to explore the greater world, curious as ever.

The first time they ventured out, it was only for an hour, walking slowly, and Aziraphale leaned heavily on Crowley's arm as they made their back to their cozy little home that wasn't a home as much as a corner of the universe Crowley had carved out and made invisible to all others. Crowley got Aziraphale into bed and revived him with a cup of tea and tried not to worry that he'd pushed himself too hard.

There was no damage done, though; if anything, it seemed to jumpstart something, and soon Aziraphale was leading the way, tramping through the spare, beautiful mountains. They went on long rambles and picknicked by the loch on an unusually warm day.

And, finally, they began to speak of returning to London.

“After all,” Aziraphale said. “I'm all better, and you've stopped having nightmares.”

“I didn't have nightmares,” Crowley protested.

“Of course you did,” Aziraphale said.

“They weren't _ bad _ nightmares,” Crowley mumbled, looking down. Aziraphale wasn't supposed to have known about them. He'd worry, and the whole _ point _ of this was to remove anything from Aziraphale's life that wasn't soft and comforting and loving, easing him away from the horrifying thing that had happened to him. _ Aziraphale _ hadn't had a single nightmare, and Crowley took that as a sign it was working. Also those little miracles he put in place every time Aziraphale drifted off. They might have helped too.

“Anyway, dear boy.” Azirphale patted his hand. “I think the magic here had worked itself on us. Thank you so much, for giving me this. It's been wonderful, but I miss our home.”

“Me too,” Crowley admitted.

Aziraphale gathered the few things he wanted to take back. They'd keep this little outpost, of course. It was a good place to visit, and it cost Crowley nothing to keep it tucked away and enduring.

Ready to go, Aziraphale looked around the room one more time, put his arm around Crowley's waist, and snapped his fingers, sending them back to the bookshop, tea already made and waiting for them when they appeared there.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


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